


The Eyes of a Predator

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, I Tried, Implied Underage, M/M, Morning Sex, Not Beta Read, Please Don't Kill Me, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating a werewolf, often times, was like dating two people at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes of a Predator

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a strange mood when I wrote this... that is all.

Having a werewolf for a boyfriend had as many cons as it did pros and Stiles had made sure to catalogue these things as not to avoid prompting an argument or a breakup. Be it as it may, despite how fine as everything between them may have seemed; Stiles’ relationship with Derek wasn’t permanent. He knew this for a fact. _And how could it be?_ Stiles wouldn’t allow himself to be turned no matter how many times Derek asked or alluded to changing him; Stiles wanted to go away to Brown for school and Derek wanted to stay in Beacon Hills; Stiles was underage and Derek was infinitely more mature than he was, exasperating their age difference until it felt like a whole generation stood between them at times. 

It was fun at times, though, dating Derek—if they can find time between training and fighting to actually enjoy each other’s company they had amazing sex and after that, if Stiles still has the energy to make his kiss swollen lips part for words, they had even better conversations. 

Stiles never learned as much about Derek until after they started sleeping together. He never knew how sensitive non-erogenous parts of his anatomy could be until they started sleeping together either. 

Despite how unbearably annoying Stiles was, and how good the teen could be at pushing all of Derek’s buttons until the Alpha snapped, they were a well enough couple and Stiles really did try not to be a spaz all the time; just as Derek tried to be considerate and patient. 

So when he awoke in Derek’s bed on a particularly hot summer afternoon, clothes and sheets soaked in sweat, clinging to his skin as he rolled from his back to his side in search of the cool, dryness of Derek’s side of the mattress, Stiles suppressed the urge to recoil and blush when he was met with the hot and hard body of his boyfriend. 

He wasn’t a fumbling virgin any longer, but something about Derek—the knowledge that the Alpha was always holding back with him—made him shrink away like one; his bashfulness always enticing Derek’s inner-wolf much to the older man’s chagrin. 

Pressed bodily against the side of Derek’s barely-dressed physique, damp clothes sticking to Stiles’ own body like a second-skin, the teen shakily inhaled as his nerve-endings suddenly came to life; alight with a heavy current of electric desire and fear—and he’d only just brushed bare legs with the Alpha. 

Derek’s asleep, his eyes dancing behind his pink lids as he was lost to the world in nirvana. When they had first started dating, Derek hadn’t allowed them to sleep together. The Alpha didn’t want Stiles to see him toss and turn when the nightmares came. Nor did he want to wake up in a dream-induced fury, hungry and violent; his teeth tearing into the back of Stiles’ neck, full weight bearing down on the teen and effectively halting his struggle to get away. 

One day it just happened. After a long afternoon of exercise became a long evening of helping Stiles study because the kid was hopeless sometimes. They fell asleep together on Stiles’ couch—Stiles’ dad was working the late shift; he didn’t come home until the crack of dawn—and the nightmares didn’t come. No one burned. 

Instead, he dreamt of Stiles and nothing more. Then his arm went numb under the teen’s weight, bringing him back to the world of the living with a lethargic, but all the while pleased rumble deep within his chest. 

That same satisfied sound escaped the Alpha as he pulled Stiles onto his chest with a firm hand pressed against the teen’s shoulder. Stiles let himself be repositioned despite feeling uncomfortable in his clothes, head rested on Derek’s defined-pectoral the teen puffed his cheeks out in silent protest. 

It was a summer and a weekend; he’d nothing to do that day. Stiles could very well lie in bed all morning until his pack-mates arrived for training—but his sweat-stained clothes were starting to cool and he worried briefly that he could get sick if he stayed in them. 

His body was tense; not yet used to being held up against the Alpha—the closeness had his body anticipating sex or some other form physical intimacy even though the actual situation hadn’t at all called for it. It was just cuddling, for crying out loud, but his immediate biological response to the nearness was to become painfully hard against Derek’s thigh. 

He had half a mind to keep himself from shifting away from the werewolf; lest he wake Derek up and have to explain why he was sporting a hard-on—like he would actually _need_ to explain, though, as his erection was pretty self-explanatory. Seriously, who wouldn’t be aroused virtually _all the time_ if they had a boyfriend like Derek Freakin’ Hale!? 

Derek could smell his arousal, Stiles knew. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out, really, what with the way the Alpha’s brows furrowed and his nose scrunched as he was essentially _suffocated_ by the scent; how his sleepy grunts and groans came in more frequent intervals as the scent altered his dreams and slowly stirred the wolf within to awareness. 

Derek growled thickly and Stiles startled involuntarily at the sound; jerking away as though burned, the teen very nearly fell off the bed. 

The Alpha’s eyes were a striking shade of red when they shot open at the sound of Stiles yelping as he almost tumbled over the edge of the bed. 

Derek’s hands caught Stiles’ wrists in a flash and the older man growled as he hauled the teen back to his side. His grip was firm and unyielding, like a solid metal restraint—feeling those fingers branding his skin as Derek held onto him with unholy strength, Stiles hoped like hell that he wouldn’t have bruises. 

He had enough to explain to his dad as is. 

“Ow, Derek, that’s… ow, too tight—let go.” Stiles whimpered, trying to pull his wrists free. His efforts got him pinned to the bed on his back; any fight he had fled him like the air from his lungs when Derek fixed him with a particularly piercing look. Nervous out of his mind, Stiles tried not to fidget as Derek knelt down low and brushed his nose against the teen’s clavicle. 

“You woke me up, Stiles.” Derek purred threateningly, not at all sounding like his usual self as he nuzzled Stiles’ bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Yeah, I know—look, I-I’m sorry…” Stiles choked; his fingers twitching as they tingled with the onset of numbness. 

The teen hissed when Derek nipped at the skin that protected his jugular vein; wriggled when the Alpha pressed his next-to-nude body against Stiles’ and gasped at the feeling of Derek’s own arousal hot and heavy against his.

“ _Sorry_ isn’t going to cut it, Stilinski.” Derek advised darkly; mouthing the juncture between Stiles’ neck and shoulder as though he was preparing to sink his teeth into it.

Stiles writhed, his mouth moving though he said nothing—he couldn’t say anything, not when his toes were curling in the sheets and his vision was going hazy around the edges as Derek rubbed against him in deep sensual circles. 

How did this happen?

— _aside from the obvious reason…_

From his investigating, Stiles figured that waking Derek on free-days typically resulted in a shouting-match and someone getting kicked out—never sexy-time. 

_So, why were they having sexy-time?_

Those red eyes glinted at him with wicked delight and Stiles felt his skin prickle with fear as he tried to guess why that was—then his left-hand was released and the teen felt Derek raking his claws down his side. From the top of his ribs to the protrusion of his hipbone, the Alpha’s talons left long swallow cuts. Stiles hissed in pain, squirming as the split skin burned. Hoping to return the favor, the teen reached for Derek’s hair and yanked it as hard as he could. 

The Alpha grunted as his head was jerked back; momentarily, it seemed that he came back to himself as his eyes bled from red to their usual shade and Stiles was immensely relieved because Derek let go of his other hand and the teen was able to prop himself up on his elbows. “You alright there, Mr. Hyde—or is it Dr. Jekyll today?” Stiles tried to sound nonchalant but failed for his was trembling far too much. 

His voice made Derek shrink away, the Alpha coming fully to his senses. Suddenly, the weight of his boyfriend was gone as the older man made a concerted effort to put as much space between himself and Stiles as possible. The teen didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. 

“Get your stuff, you’ve gotta go home.” Derek instructed. 

He was being kicked out? 

_Wait—what just happened!_

Stiles didn’t move immediately as he tried to figure out what went wrong now, and so the Alpha growled; his lip curled up with a dangerous snarl. 

Derek’s teeth looked fit for eating little girls in red hoods, his incisors enlarged and sharp as daggers; his was clearly “wolfed-out” and wholly dangerous. 

That got Stiles going— _leaving,_ that is. 

His heart was pounding in his chest as the teen stumbled down the rickety stairs. The bannister shook as he took the steps two at a time. 

_“Don’t run.”_ Derek warned pointedly from the top of the stairs; his eyes as crimson as ever and glazed over with hunger while the rest of his face yielded little else than his typical impatience—and Stiles suddenly thought of himself as a delicious bunny rabbit and Derek as a hungry predator who’d just gone vegan, but was seconds away from eating him — _eating the rabbit_. **_Oh, what the hell ever!_**

Stiles doubled over at the door—heaving his lungs out as he tried to resist the strong urge to leg it as far away as possible because he was far too out of shape to run all the way home, and he felt like his heart was about to explode—when his mind, for whatever reason, took him to Twilight; more specifically, Edward and Bella’s banter about a creepy, century-old lion on a masochistic streak falling in-love with a stupid, mouth-breathing lamb—not that Stiles ever watched the movie, just… _damn it!_ Don’t judge him. 

He barely got his breathing under control when Derek was at the door behind him, growling at him to leave. _Now._

Stiles squeaked and didn’t have the presence of mind to give a shit that it wasn’t a very manly sound as he ripped the door open and flinched at the blast of sunlight that hit him. The brightness forced him to take a step back as his ill-adjusted eyes burned. 

His back collided with Derek’s chest then, and something within him screamed: _“Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around, you freakin’ idiot!”_

He turned around.

“Stiles,” Derek snarled; his voice sounding foreign and rough. The teen seized up right before he was dragged back from the door. 

Stiles didn’t know whether this was a Pro or a Con, but there was one thing he knew about having a Derek for a boyfriend—the Alpha was a lot rougher in bed during the mornings of the full-moon.


End file.
